The Boss's Son Box Set

by Sierra Rose

  Relieved, she wound her arms around his neck and tipped her face up to be kissed. He smiled, waiting until she closed the last inches between them and kissed him. When at last they broke apart to breathe, she hung breathless from his neck, her head lolling at his shoulder.

  “I was wrong. I thought I wanted someone dependable, a standing date. I think someone like you is what I needed all along, someone who challenges me and makes me think and makes me try—makes me want.”

  “I want to be your lover, Britt. Not just today,” he said frankly, and her eyes grew wide.

  She had seen the laser focus of his gaze, could feel the heat rising in her skin from his nearness. He was the opposite of a Kevin. He wasn’t a man who would show up for business dinners or meet her for a movie on a Friday night. He was a man who wanted to take her to India, who would sing to her and dizzy her with the ten or fifty projects he had going with his relentless energy and enthusiasm. He wasn’t easy or uncomplicated. He was better.

  “It seems that I’m taking a lover,” she said with a half-smile. “It sounds so European, so sophisticated.”

  “I’m not European, but I’ll do my best,” he said.

  “I want to see your best. If what you’ve already done isn’t your best, I may need paramedics,” she teased.

  “I want you to look at me in absolute wonder, that a man could bring you such pleasure.”

  “I’ll work on my expression of wonder,” she said.

  “I promised I wouldn’t make a pass at you. You can hold a man by his promises,” he faltered, standing up.

  “Wait, are you refusing to have sex with me, Jack Fitzsimmons?” she demanded. “Because that is both stupid and aggravating.”

  “So you’ll let me out of that promise?”

  “I’m dragging you out of that promise. Now show me what you can do,” she purred.

  Jack took her in his arms and kissed her, her head falling back across his arm and her lips parting for him. Bracing her against the arm of the couch, he shoved his pants down, never releasing her from his arms, from his kiss. He spoke to her then without words, with nothing but the savage need of his member pressing against her sex, parting her and moving into her with slide and thrust. Taken, she thought. His kiss on her forehead, her cheek, her chin kept time with his thrusts, as gentle as the latter was powerful. She was pulsing around him before she was ready—climaxing because she couldn’t hold back. Gripping him in her arms, her eyes locked with his, she rode it out, pulling his completion from him with the need in her expression, the desperation in her hands as she framed his face, kissed his bottom lip softly, coaxing until he found his release. Instead of letting her go, letting her tumble back onto the couch, Jack pulled her closer, his head dropping onto her shoulder. Britt stroked his hair, damp with sweat, and kissed his temple.

  “Six thousand percent,” she said with a shaky laugh.

  He eased her to her feet and kissed her cheek with a smile. Jack dressed quickly, and Britt tried to smooth down her tumbled hair and find her dress. She slipped it on over her head and looked with a pang of regret at her torn underpants. It wasn’t as though she had an extra pair with her. She located her shoes and sat on the edge of the chair to fasten them.

  “Don’t go,” he said, raking his hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean for you to have to get dressed so quickly, Britt. I found it awkward to walk around with my pants about my ankles is all,” he said, his hand covering hers as she tried to fix the strap of her shoes. “I’d like you to stay the night if you will.”

  “I think it’s—too soon for that.”

  “I slept over at your place.”

  “Not to sound completely slutty but that was when you were a stranger, not my boss’s son and my coworker. It was fine to go have dinner with you, but sleeping over at your place seems—conspicuous. Like I’m trying to lay claim to you or something. Like announcing that we—” She gestured toward the arm of the couch to elaborate.

  “I asked you to be my lover, tried to persuade you to leave the country with me. It’s not like I’m going to pretend this never happened.”

  “There’s no need to announce it either. It’s a little awkward for me, to be sleeping with Phil Fitzsimmons’ son.”

  “Then don’t think of me like that. Think of me as Jack, the guy from Tamarind, the guy who makes up stories about boats,” he shrugged as if it didn’t have to be a big deal.

  “To me this is major. I don’t go around doing this, just picking up guys and hooking up with them. I mean, I slept with Kevin but we were together for ages, and it wasn’t at all the same thing.”

  “Was he doing it wrong?” Jack looked serious but the corner of his mouth quirked and she had to keep from laughing.

  “Not wrong necessarily but clearly not—well,” she managed to say straight-faced.

  His blue eyes blazed. “Will you spend the night with me?”

  Chapter 18

  Britt grinned. “Stay the night with you?”

  The offer was exciting and intriguing. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach as she thought about his kisses.

  “Yeah, you can ride to work with me. Think how practical that is, to save money on gas like that,” he teased.

  It wasn’t a good idea. She needed to think rationally. “I don’t have a change of clothes. I can’t.”

  “If that’s you’re only objection I’m sure we can find you something to wear. Do you ever call in sick? Work from home?”

  “Never.”

  “What if we stayed at your place? Would you be more comfortable? It’s where you keep your clothes after all. Although it wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to keep some things here as well.”

  “That’s fast. We’ve been out once, Jack. I’m not moving shit into your closet.”

  She looked at him and bit her lip.

  “You aren’t sure about me, are you?” he said.

  She shook her head.

  “It’s messy. I slept with you the night we met. I brushed you off. Your dad took over the company I work for, now we’ve had dinner and ended up on the arm of your couch. It’s not the way it’s supposed to be. It’s out of control, and it’s not an idea I’m comfortable with.”

  “Do you want me to stop having sex with you?” he said.

  Hell no! “No that’s stupid. We can’t pretend we haven’t already...it was very good, in fact. I just, I don’t know. I’m too rigid for this, too uptight. I can’t fuck my boss’s son.”

  “Then don’t. Just fuck me,” he said softly, leaning in to kiss her.

  She tilted her head and let him kiss her, let the waves of warm desire pull her under. Jack’s hands on her back pressed her closer, and he drew her into his lap. His fingertips traced her jawline, and his mouth moved to her neck.

  “Don’t walk away from this,” he said, his dark eyes drugged with passion, his pupils dilated.

  “I want to walk away, at least I think I do. But I can’t. I’m just craven when you touch me.”

  “Don’t let me take you to bed if you’re going to walk away.”

  “I’m not. I don’t think I could...” She sank back into his kiss and all her protests drowned under the onslaught of his tongue. She melted into him, not wanting to pull away, not ever.

  When his hands found her breasts, her nipples hardened, poking through the silk of her dress as he rubbed them back and forth and made her whimper. He took her nipple in his mouth through the fabric, the hot wet mouth claiming her. She held his head down, her hands fisted in his hair. Hot tendrils of slick desire uncoiled along her skin, and when he pulled away, she frowned with such dismay that he nearly laughed.

  “I want to take you to bed. But I’ll have you properly this time,” he said, and it sounded like a promise.

  Jack led her through a dining room and down a hall to his bedroom. It was not the sleek gray and white decorator chamber she imagined, but what she could only call a grown-ass man’s sexy bedroom. The bed, a heavy carved four poster, was massive and domin
ated the room, the tailored window shades the same soft gold as the bedding. A stone fireplace stood dormant opposite the bed, and a desk held not papers but crystal decanters of amber liquid and tumblers. He led her to the desk, seated her in the leather chair and poured her a drink. Her short dress had ridden up on the walk to the bedroom, so her sex was bare against the cool leather. It gave her a sensuous jolt to rub against it. She sipped the bourbon he’d given her and welcomed its peppery burn in her throat.

  He stooped to start a fire in the hearth and switching on the gas and making high, orange flames ripple and crack almost instantly. That’s how it is with me, she thought with a touch of embarrassment, how quickly he can make me catch fire. She wriggled in the chair between desire and shame. Jack’s eyes fell to her lap, to the state of her dress and he shook his head. He laid a warm hand on her belly she squirmed at even that suggestive touch. His fingers dipped lower until they were between her legs where she was becoming slick already. He touched her, parted her folds, stroking her sensitive nub. She bit down on her lip to suppress a cry. Jack’s hand on her neck drew her forward and he kissed her mouth, his fingers never slowing in their steady exploration. He released her from the kiss.

  “Don’t bite your lip. I want to hear you,” he whispered roughly and knelt before her, nudging her thighs apart with his hands. He grinned at her, and she thought she might faint when he put his mouth to her, licking and lapping, hooking her legs over his shoulders and holding her hips still as she twisted and writhed. She was crying out, a choking moan starting deep in her throat. He stopped when she was right on the edge, ready to spiral over. Drawing back from her, he shook his head. His face was almost intolerably handsome in the shifting firelight, his half smile mischievous.

  “On the bed,” he insisted, taking her hand and kissing it. Jack moved her to the big bed and stripped off his clothing again. “I want you between my sheets, Britt. I want to lay claim to you in my own bed. I want you to know you’re mine.”

  Without a word, she grabbed his face and pulled him down to kiss her. She bit his lip, tugged at his hair hard, her legs snaking around him possessively. She didn’t take kindly to the interruption, and she was bound and determined to get back the orgasm he’d stopped. The first thing she did to recapture it was to take his hand and set it between her legs. He curled one finger inside of her, working her nub with his thumb, a practiced flick and stroke that set her back on the edge in no time. He pushed another finger inside of her, stretching her, filling her with that pressure as he stroked her until he was bucking her hips, reaching for it, aching for him to finish her. Jack’s mouth closed on her nipple through the silk, nipping it and grazing it with his teeth. She screamed once, keening as she shattered under his hands, her inner muscles pulsing around his fingers as he felt her come hard and long. He kissed her. She was still shaking from the pulses of pleasure that took her, and he was kissing her, his tongue in her breathless mouth, full and questing.

  Jack pulled her up to the pillows on the bed and pushed the covers down, sliding her between his soft gold sheets that were cool and slick against her sensitive body. She reached for him, her arms out, and he pulled her to him, gathered her against his naked body, magnificent and muscled, and cradled her against him as if to give comfort. She didn’t want comfort, though. She wanted more. Sitting up, she peeled her dress off and sat before him naked again. His hands went to her small breasts and stroked them. Almost instantly the nipples hardened, his strokes making them peak and elongate almost painfully. Straddling him, she dipped a nipple to his mouth, rubbing it along his lips until he opened them and sucked it in, his velvet tongue lavishing it while his hand covered her other breast, pinching that nipple until bolts of pleasure shot down between her legs unbidden.

  “Say you’ll stay the night,” he pressed, his voice hot against her flesh. She nodded, clutching at his hair, bucking against him.

  “Say you’ll call in sick,” she challenged. He nodded, never taking his mouth from her nipple. “Say you’ll never stop.”

  “I’ll never stop,” he said, fastening his mouth onto hers for a fevered kiss. “I’ll never stop,” he repeated, rolling her beneath him and making love to her.

  Hours later, he found his phone, texted that he wouldn’t be in the office that morning. He kissed Britt’s temple.

  “I told them you were sick, too,” he grinned.

  “Why didn’t you just announce that we were spending the day in bed?”

  “I thought I’d save the description for the company newsletter,” he said. “Are you hungry or do you need sleep?”

  “I need sleep,” she murmured, burrowing back into his arms.

  Jack pulled the sheet over her shoulder and settled his chin on her hair with a sigh.

  Chapter 19

  When Britt woke up in a vast, opulent bed alone, she put a hand to her head, wondering at first where she was. The one drink hadn’t left her with a hangover, but another night with Jack Fitzsimmons had.

  “What the hell did I do?” she murmured to herself, stretching and noting that she was a little sore.

  Britt stumbled into the bathroom and scalded herself in the shower, scrubbing with a loofah and sampling upscale Bulgari toiletries, emerging smelling of white tea and sandalwood according to the bottle. She felt cleaner, less ashamed. Combing her hair, she stepped into his massive closet and selected a shirt to put on, a faded t-shirt from in the back corner of the closet that was hung in perfect sections of suits, shirts, jeans, coats organized by season and by color. The t-shirt touted a bar in New Zealand, one that he must have visited. It was soft and worn and hung almost to her knees. She cribbed some socks from a built-in drawer in the closet and, finding nothing that would pass for usable underwear—and relieved that he didn’t have any women’s underwear from past girlfriends—she put on a pair of boxers that rode low on her hips but at least covered everything. She combed her wet hair, wishing she could look more glamorous, more put together and less walk-of-shame when she saw him. If he was even there.

  She had a vague recollection of calling in sick. Britt made her way to the kitchen, led by a deep desire for the coffee she smelled. She found coffee and a cup and started guzzling it, strong and black and bitter. With a satisfied smile, she set out to look for Jack. After searching through the living room, three more bedrooms and as many baths, she located him in an office. He was at a standing desk, tapping away at a laptop and mumbling to himself. He looked up when she came in, removed his ear buds and kissed her cheek absently.

  “Morning,” he said.

  “The coffee’s great,” she said for lack of anything better to offer.

  “Good,” he said, eyes darting back to the design on his laptop screen.

  “You’re working so I’ll just go. Mind if I borrow these clothes?”

  “No, you’re fine. Just give me a minute to finish up here and I’ll be right with you,” he said briskly, popping his ear buds back in and returning to work.

  Britt slunk out of the office feeling entirely out of place. She wandered in and found the TV remote but couldn’t find the TV, so she gave up and got out her phone. Nine texts from Marj waited, all making rude exclamations and guesses about what she and the boss’s son were doing with their day off. Rolling her eyes, Britt decided not to answer. She knew they’d be the talk of the office. She had kind of asked for that when she agreed to spend the night with Jack and play hooky with him the next day. Although playing hooky had sounded a lot more fun, a lot naughtier than drinking coffee in his kitchen alone. She rummaged through the cupboards and found a lot of quinoa and kale but not a lot of food she considered edible. No cereal. No crackers. She drank kefir with a grimace. It was less like milk and more like old yogurt than she’d supposed it would be. Pacing with increasing remorse, she went and got her dress and shoes. She decided it was more ridiculous to go barefoot in the city than it was to wear stilettos with borrowed boxer shorts and she put them on with determination.

  She was scrib
bling out a note, polite but firm, that she was leaving and thanking him for a nice time when he emerged from the office.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  “I’m heading home. I have...laundry to do,” she finished lamely.

  “I’m going to the gym. Let me give you a lift,” he said without protesting. She felt herself droop. He really didn’t want her there. Jack, like herself, had been caught up in the heat of the moment the night before. They didn’t have much to talk about in the light of day. He’d be glad to have her out of the way, and she suspected that she felt the same about him. Embarrassed but relieved to be going home, she tossed her dress over her shoulder and followed him to the elevator.

  He was kind but remote on the drive to her apartment. He said he’d call her later, and she nodded without expecting him to follow through and actually call. The change in his manner was so great; she wondered if she had been too easy and ruined the fun of pursuit for him or something. Her mind cast about for women’s magazine style reasons for his behavior but kept coming back to the fact that he was just interested in having her in his bed, not his life. The truth was, she was hurt by it, but she understood. It would be a hell of a lot easier if they didn’t get involved. Breaking off their fling now before anyone got their feelings hurt would be for the best.

  Chapter 20

  Jack rang her doorbell and when she answered, he was in gym shorts, a white t-shirt clinging damply to his chest, wet hair curling at the ends.

  “I have a conference call in a few. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be okay?” she asked, trying not to drool over his post-workout body. She could smell his sweat, salty and fresh like the outdoors.

  “Because I dropped you off and you were quiet. I couldn’t stop thinking about you my entire workout.”

  “I should be at work. Taking the day off was a mistake,” she only took the day off because she thought she was going to spend it with him.